Fortunate
by Lucifer no Miko
Summary: This takes place AFTER "A Song For Silence," Livia's story. Kurea is Gifted, wonderful with weapons, and saucy as they come. She doesn't put up with bull from anyone.. but what happens when she has to go to a foreign land (Tortall), with a knight she ca


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A/N: In this first chapter, I only introduce my charas. You get to meet Daine and Alanna and the others after this, so if I get your reviews.. You get more chapters.   
  
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OOC Disc: I own Kurea, Ethan, Antair, Orabelle, Nassem, Astrid, Tesya, Shire, Maud, Kendra, Ambrosia, Halet, Livia, and the land of Lycee and its customs. Basically.. a good portion of this, because I SUCK at using other people's stories but I suck just as badly at creating my own. So I do half and half . I'm not sure about accents in Tortall, but in Lycee they're distinctly British with the exception of Orabelle and Tesya, who sound Irish being from Jinta, a recently conquered country, and Kendra sounds French. And of course, uh, Livia doesn't talk.   
  
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Kurea's theme song, "Turn Off The Light," by Nelly Furtado; Ethan's theme song, "Desperado," by the Eagles; Antain's theme song, "Erode" by Dir En Grey; Orabelle's theme song, "Tsumi to Batsu," by Ringo S.; Nassem's theme, "Bruises" by Sugarcult; Astrid's theme song, "Policeman Skank," by Audioweb (shut up, it suits her); Livia's theme song, "Silence" by Sarah McLachan.   
  
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Kurea is the sauciest of saucy, with a whiplash tongue and a pirate's vocabulary. She's strange and smartassed and not at all from Tortall. She has multicolored hair. She's a thief, a spy, a dangerous woman. What happens when she's sent on a mission to the totally alien land of Tortall with a man she can't stand, a shy ballerina, and her weakling boyfriend. There she meets a nobleman and his prostitute girlfriend, Gary's extremely young wife, the Lioness, Keladry, Daine, Neal, and a gaggle of strange girls with even stranger powers   
  
---   
  
Kurea of Lycee narrowed her brown eyes at her partner. If she had had long enough hair, and half of it wasn't in tri-color spikes (in blue, silver, and magenta), she would have tossed it defiantly. The young man staring back at her rocked on his heels.   
  
"Don't look so pissed off. It's not for too long."   
  
"Ethan! Not for too long, do you know how long this will take? Do you really? Infiltrate the bloody castle! What am I supposed to do, waltz up through the gate and say 'Hi, I'm going to kill you all' and skewer Mibalt through with a sword? .. Ethan!"   
  
He'd begun to laugh. She glared at him and put her hands on her hips. A diminuitive woman, she wouldn't have been intimidating were it not for that crazy hair and the fact that she was usually glowering. And of course the throwing stars attached to her belt. Ethan wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. Kurea growled at him.   
  
"I am sorry, but you looked so funny.. You're such a little fireball, Kurea, for as cocky as you act with everyone else.." He chuckled again.   
  
"Glad you think it's so funny. Give me that map, will you? One of us should get some work done, at least." He handed the map over and she peered over it, leaning over the desk, listening to him leave. She wore black breeches, a white shirt with blue, silver, purple, and red paint splatters, and a black vest. A black collar with dragon teeth pointing outwards in sharp spikes completed her attire; she was singularly odd-looking. She leaned further over the map and heard a wolf whistle coming from behind her. She froze and her eyes widened in shock.   
  
"Ethan! You *sicko!*" She hadn't heard him come back in. She whirled and came face to face --   
  
With someone who was not Ethan. She narrowed her eyes at the stranger and put her hands on her hips.   
  
"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?" She gave the man a critical once-over. He was short, slender and graceful, with dark, catlike features and a cunning air about him. He didn't look anything like toned, lean, fair Ethan, nor did he sound like him when he spoke. She wondered how she could have thought it was her partner.   
  
He gave a sly smile, running his eyes over her in a way that made her feel like she was naked. She didn't like it and glowered at him further.   
  
"I'm Sir Antair. Knight of Tortall." A knight. What was a knight doing here, in a den of thieves and opium? She shifted her weight. He *was* taller than her, not that that was hard, but she disliked it. She gave him an appraising glance.. Still, he was a skinny thing. A single poisoned throwing star should take him out.   
  
"No, you can't kill me." She snapped her head up and stared at him cooly, still not saying anything.   
  
"Your friend told me that that would likely be your first impulse." She relaxed slightly, but kept her eyes on him -- particularly the hefty-looking sword he wore. Yes, he would be a knight -- just her luck, Ethan the Idiot would befriend one. And he'd quickly figured out that a woman who wore breeches and poisoned daggers was not to be reckoned with, she noted with some pride.   
  
"Is it in your Knight's Code of Chivalry, then, to whistle at a woman?" She said it cooly, but there was a distinct edge to her voice. Sir Antair held his hands up in a surrendering gesture.   
  
"I mean no harm, Lady Kurea. Ethan and I have known each other since we were children -- you are aware that he is from Tortall, aren't you?"   
  
"Of course. But he's not a Nobleman, unless there really is something I'm missing." She kept her hand on her star, but was no longer as openly hostile.   
  
"No, you're right. His father was a servant in our castle."   
  
"Bet he was stronger than you," she taunted him, a few spikes of multicolored hair brushing against the wall as she reclined into her chair.   
  
"Physically, perhaps, but with the sword one could say I have few rivals, my Lady."   
  
"Arrogant, aren't you? My my. *Perhaps,*" she bit off the word mockingly, "I'll have to show you my own skill someday." She inwardly cackled maliciously at the thought. Her skill with weapons was nearly inhuman, and oftentimes it was thought she had the Gift with them. She didn't believe it was so; she had no use for tomfoolery with magic. Magic would not earn her any real money.   
  
"I think that will be possible in the near future," Antair said with another smirk. Kurea's eyebrows rose. Was he threatening her?   
  
"What do you mean by that?"   
  
"Not what you are undoubtedly thinking."   
  
"Are you to work with us, then?" She spoke each word slowly, as if the idea of him being anywhere near her disgusted her. She definitely didn't like this man; he was foolish, arrogant, and most of all he kept talking to her chest. She did *not* want to see how he'd react to Orabelle, her most beloved foundling, and the most beautiful.   
  
"I am, good Lady." Damn.   
  
"Right, then, there are a few rules I'm going to lay down and you'd better accept them if you want this to go well. I am Kurea and just Kurea. Any additions and I'll sever your vocal cords. Secondly, if you ever deign to.. to.. *whistle* at me in such a manner again, not only will I rip out your vocal cords, I'll *strangle* you and all your living relatives with them. Thirdly, don't fuck this mission up. Or *else.*"   
  
Sir Antair gave a sweeping bow, but kept his dark eyes on her.   
  
"As you wish.. Kurea."   
  
---   
  
Kurea was packing. They were leaving at dawn and she, not being a morning person, did not want to bother with it then. Naturally she packed her knives, swords, throwing stars, daggers, maces, poisons, and oh, her clothing. However, for some reason, she plucked an old pendant she'd found as a child and never gotten rid of, but never bothered to wear. It was a simple thing on a string, made of schorl. She tossed it in the bag and sank into reverie.   
  
It simply wasn't fair. That -- that *man*, that corrupt knight was taking Orabelle's place on the journey. Ethan had planned it, she was sure of that -- and she'd be sure to get him back. Perhaps she could kill Antair on the way. It wouldn't be hard.. No, Ethan would figure it out.. Orabelle was fifteen or sixteen years of age; tall, slender, and elegant. She was quite beautiful, with warm, tanned skin, straight black hair, and bright blue eyes. She was a ballerina and Kurea's favorite of the foundling children, as Kurea had no pretensions about her own beauty -- she was sufficiently pretty, that was good enough -- but she had, oddly enough, an almost motherly pride of the young girl's stunning looks.   
  
A rap at the door startled Kurea from her reverie and she muttered to herself absent-mindedly about black hair and stupid knights.   
  
"Orabelle?"   
  
"Aye, missus. Mayn't I come in?"   
  
"'Course."   
  
The young girl slipped through the door, her arms full of clothing.   
  
"These is for ye. Maister Ethan said ye was tae wear them on the journey, on account of ye'd stand out in the -- the other land." She dumped the white spidersilk gown, beaten golden girdle, slippers, and sapphire necklace on the bed.   
  
Frowning, Kurea picked through the clothing. Ethan never gave her orders like this; he'd try and trick his way around her, but he never was this direct.   
  
"That bloody idiot knight," she muttered, looking up at Orabelle.   
  
"T'ain't fair, missus," Orabelle said quietly, "I don't want tae be away from ye. Tain't right."   
  
"It isn't.. And it's all that idiot's fault!" Kurea snarled at a portrait above her bed and kicked the wall, indenting it slightly. Suddenly a smile came onto her face and she seemed much calmer.   
  
"Orabelle, I wouldn't do too well in a court, would I?"   
  
"Well.." Ora clearly didn't want to offend Kurea, but was torn between the truth and kindness.   
  
"Be honest, Ora."   
  
"Nae, missus, ye'd be as out of place as a hawk in a nest o' swans."   
  
"Oddly appropriate," Kurea commented, her smile increasing.   
  
"Missus.. what are ye planning now..?" Ora was wary of Kurea's plans, being much more practical than her friend.   
  
"You'd make a better lady, Orabelle. You can share a horse with me."   
  
"Missus! Maister Ethan will be angry!" Ora was very respectful of Ethan -- and, daresay, fancied him a bit, but she knew he was quite in love with Kurea.   
  
"Let him be angry," Kurea said recklessly, tossing the clothes at Ora, "Get dressed. You'll look lovely in white and gold.. I think there's a circlet in here somewhere." It was a strange reversal, the older woman helping the young girl dress instead of vice-versa. At last, though, Kurea had tightened the corset, buttoned the dress, laced the slippers, adjusted the garter, fluffed the underskirt, ruffled the petticoat, fastened the necklace, and set the golden circlet on her beloved friend's head.   
  
"Look in the mirror," Kurea said with a smile, smoothing one of Ora's black locks. The younger girl looked at her curiously and turned towards the mirror. She gasped and leaned forward, resting her hands on the vanity's tabletop.   
  
"Missus! I look -- like -- a noblewoman!"   
  
"And you will be."   
  
"Missus.."   
  
"It's Kurea from now on, Orabelle, and pray you remember that. You're the lady once we leave."   
  
"Oh, Missu -- Kurea, I donnae feel like I can do this.. I have me accent and not a whit of the strength that ye do." Ora stared at her benefactress with wide, sapphire eyes.   
  
"Don't worry, child." Kurea grinned craftily, sitting cross-legged on the bed. She closed her bags and shoved them haphazardly to the floor, beckoning to Ora to sit on the edge of the bed and talk with her. The girl obeyed, wary of the older woman's plans.   
  
"Is it very dangerous?" Orabelle asked softly, looking up at Kurea with her trusting gaze.   
  
Kurea considered this question for a moment, then shook her head.   
  
"No, Orabelle. Not really."   
  
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"Nassem!"   
  
A female voice cried out and the sound of many bells jingling was heard. A young prostitute ran towards a nearby visiting nobleman and threw her arms about him tightly, snuggling against the tall, slender man. He looked at her in bewilderment, pushing her off him. He wasn't a fierce-looking man; rather effeminate, with fair hair and brown eyes. Young, perhaps twenty-five or a bit older.   
  
"Who are you? How do you know my name?"   
  
The girl gave him an innocent look with doelike gray pools.   
  
"D-don't you remember me?" Her lower lip began to tremble and her bosom (very ample and very revealed by the scanty black corset dress she wore) heaved as well. The other men nudged each other and muttered, grinning in amusement. The poor man was beguiled.   
  
A few chocolate brown strands escaped the girl's elaborate updo and she clasped her hands together.   
  
"Oh, you don't, how terrible.. Oh, I am such a fool.. The name Astrid never gave me any luck.. but all those promises you made, how you would take care of the baby and I and we'd get married.. Oh, Nassem!" She promptly burst into tears. The man thought fast and quickly spoke.   
  
"Of course I remember, but you look.. so.. uh.. different.." He struggled to find ground. His friends began to snicker and he shot them a frown.   
  
"Oh.. I know.." The young woman sniffled. "It was so hard, with you being gone, Nassem.."   
  
"But you've come back to fulfill your promises, haven't you?" She gave him a pleading look. The man Nassem knew he was lost; he had no choice. He'd never met this girl but he knew from the shrewd look in her eye what she was playing. This had happened a few times to other men, but most women didn't target him because of his girlish looks. But he was a nobleman and if he got a woman with child he had no choice but to wed her.   
  
"Uh.. why yes.. of course.. Um.." What was her name again.. ".. Astrid .."   
  
She threw her arms about him.   
  
"Oh, my darling Nassem!" And there, much to the shock and scandal of the watching townsfolk and various noblemen and women, she kissed him smack on the lips.   
  
---   
  
Lithe, bare limbs drew themself into a languid stretch, bathing themselves in the watery grayish rays of early morn. The appendages quickly drew themselves back down to the minimal warmth of a worn brown; they were more suited to twilight's sharp coldness than dawn's lukewarm fingers. A few minutes passed as the strength of sunlight grew and gradually pricked and pained the night-child totally awake.   
  
A naked form, distinctly feminine, removed itself from beneath the tattered blanket on a straw bed, the only thing in the tiny, many-windowed room. The girl was of an indistinguishable age, with hair of raw silk, heavy, gleaming red-gold, skin so pale it was near translucent, and eyes too dark a brown-black for her complexion, but they were obscured by pale lids currently. She was exquisite, but she was alien. The name "Livia" was tattooed in small letters on her lower back, centered neatly, marring otherwise flawless skin. There was a reason for this; she could not tell people her own name, as she did not speak. It was not a matter of ability, but choice.   
  
A moment passed as she stood, nude, in the little room, feeling the tentative muddy yellow stain her deathly skin. She did not belong in that room; she belonged nowhere. Finally, atramentous eyes were revealed, shocking against that lightness. Wide, large, slightly slanted eyes, filled with hunger. The lathe of heaven continued its aggression against her flesh and finally, with a sort of silent shudder, she moved towards a burlap sack and pulled out a pile of fabric, a few pots of make-up, and leather boots.   
  
She shrugged her nubile form into a pair of black-and-white leggings that reached her mid-calf, then laced up the black boots. A ripped, short black skirt went on over it, and then a short-sleeved black shirt that revealed her midriff. She fastened her hair into a low bun and lined her eyes with white liquid. She dusted shimmery stuff onto the lids of her eyes, painted her pearl-pink lips to a pitch black, and stood.   
  
Morning. Mourning. She closed her eyes, sable lashes casting shadows in the dawn's light against her milky flesh.   
  
Silence.   
  
A humorless smile curved her perfect, ebon-stained lips, and she walked down the stairs to the market.   
  
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End file.
